#334- [FIC] Asleep, While They Do Dream Things True (Cobb/Arthur)
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Title: Asleep, While They Do Dream Things True
Word Count: 2,000
Pairing: Cobb/Arthur
Rating: a softer NC-17
Warnings: somnophilia-related non-con, really long sentences
Disclaimer: Arthur and Cobb are property of Christopher Nolan, and the title is 100% Shakespeare.
Author's Note: I'm rather amazed that I haven't seen any somnophilia in the fandom yet, so since I have A GIANT FRIGGING KINK for it, I decided to give into my sick, twisted fantasies and write some. ;)
“Do you mind if I take the bed tonight?”
“No. Go ahead-get some rest.”
Money was low and they were sharing a single again, cloistered in East Berlin with nothing but a need for work and a limited grasp of German between them. The room was muggy, oppressive, and Arthur cracked a window to let the air circulate as he sat with his legs crossed in a stiff, under-stuffed armchair adjacent to the bed, a rickety twin.
It was close to midnight. Cobb had been asleep for a little more than an hour. He had been pushing himself too hard, running too long on too little sleep, and Arthur knew he would be useless tomorrow without a decent rest. They were not strangers to sharing a bed, but it made Cobb too restless. Arthur would sleep fine on a cot, when he chose to sleep. At the moment, he had something more pressing on his mind.
Cobb moaned softly, his legs twisting in the thin sheets that clung to his body, dark in places with sweat. Arthur watched him in silence, studying the strong, smooth curve of his back, bare and drenched in moonlight. Muscles rippled across his broad shoulders and Arthur’s throat felt tight. He loosened his tie, laying it across the arm of the chair and rolling his shirtsleeves to his elbows, blood pounding at his temples.
The sleeping man stirred a little as Arthur sat on the edge of the bed, but he didn’t let it trouble him-Cobb was a deep sleeper. Arthur had never known him to wake in the middle of the night, not even for a glass of water. There was no movement behind his eyelids, but Arthur had watched him sleep enough times to know that he was well under. It was the lack of tension in his face that gave it away. His body jerked slightly and he moaned again, deep in his throat. A deep sleeper, but not a sound one.
Even without nightmares, he tossed and turned. Arthur didn’t know what happened when Cobb closed his eyes and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to. Either way, it wasn’t his concern.
Cobb’s spine tensed and relaxed beneath the flat of his palm in response to the stimulus. His skin felt clammy, feverish maybe, under the sheen of perspiration. Cobb was prone to night sweats, tremors, and Arthur bowed his head over the other man and kissed the nape of his neck, tasting sweat and skin. The hairs there, curling into wispy tendrils, tickled his cheek and he sighed against Cobb’s skin, fingers flexing hard on his bicep.
There was barely enough room for Arthur to lie down beside him, but Cobb was turning again. Arthur could feel the heat coming off him in waves, surprised by how much warmer he felt like this, despite knowing that average body temperature actually dropped a degree or two shortly before sleep.
Contact seemed to relax Cobb and he was more still now that Arthur was curled against his back, hand pausing on his chest to feel the man’s heart beat, slow and even like his breathing. Arthur felt the mild rise and fall of his chest and he closed his eyes, trying to mimic the sleeping man’s carefully measured breathing as his own quickened, shallow and harsh. Already the front of his slacks strained uncomfortably and he let himself press a little into Cobb’s back, the slow, hot grind making him shudder and groan softly.
There was something oddly thrilling about watching someone sleep, the silence that accompanied it, deep enough to hear the sleeper’s breathing like the low whisper of a flute; the subtle depression in body temperature and the torpor of their limbs, every movement pendulous and protracted.
Tonight Arthur was impatient, the ache too profound to take the time to remap territory he already knew so well. He slid a hand into Cobb’s briefs after only a few minutes, rubbing the man’s penis where it lay soft and indolent against his thigh. Sometimes he was hard even before Arthur reached for him, coaxed to arousal by the exploration of Arthur’s hands and mouth, but more often he had the satisfaction of feeling Cobb shudder to life in his hand as Arthur fondled him.
Arthur pressed insistently against Cobb, burying his face in the tender junction of his neck and shoulder, every brush of fabric sending sparks rocketing up his spine. Cobb’s breathing began to stutter ever so slightly, his sleeping rhythm punctuated with pants and grunts that made Arthur lightheaded as he thumbed the slit of Cobb’s cock, spreading the thin fluid around with the pad of his thumb.
By now he knew Cobb simply by the feel of him, the familiar coarse hair, untamed and musky, the incredible thickness of his shaft, and the moderate left-leaning arc of his penis when he was fully aroused. Arthur wondered what it would feel like inside him as they fucked, close and desperate, not for the first time. He was… what was that phrase Cobb was so fond of? Possessed, he thought; possessed by an idea. Tonight he would need more than some friction and a hand-job to satisfy the slow burn in his belly.
Arthur released him and carefully extracted himself from their embrace, licking the pad of his thumb even before he realized he had brought it to his lips. He stood there for a few moments, taking the time to work it out in his head and assure himself that Cobb was still asleep before stripping and neatly folding his clothes into a pile beside the bed.
He retrieved a small tube of lubricant from among his things and moved over to the sink, watching Cobb as he slicked his fingers. The man was sprawled out inelegantly, his chin resting on his forearm and Arthur bit back a soft cry as he worked two digits inside himself, sagging back against the sink, the ceramic edge sharp and cold against his back. It was a fight to keep his eyes open as he scissored his fingers, stretching himself, but he wanted to see Cobb.
“Dom… Dom,” he chanted the other man’s name under his breath, eyes fixed on Cobb’s sandy, mussed hair and stubbled jaw… the elegant curvature of his thighs. He only used the man’s given name in private moments like this where he couldn’t demur. Outside these walls, ‘Dom’ was reserved for Mal, but there was no harm in it here with Cobb asleep and Arthur pressed up against the hotel sink, trembling as he thrust his fingers rapidly in and out of his slick passage.
With a shaky exhalation of breath, Arthur withdrew his fingers and returned to the bed, gently stroking Cobb’s flanks before tugging his briefs down his thighs. He rubbed his calves together the way he did when a room was too warm and Arthur slid the window open a few more inches before settling himself beside Cobb, his face even with the man’s hips. Arthur took him in hand, sliding his mouth down around Cobb, who had softened in the interim. Arthur massaged the man’s hip as he sucked, his fingertips sinking into the soft, yielding flesh. Cobb stirred, his thighs parting slightly, and Arthur wedged a hand between them to feel the pounding of his femoral artery, Cobb’s pulse quickening as Arthur licked and sucked his way down his shaft, groaning low in his throat.
Arthur could tell he was close after only a couple of minutes and he reluctantly let Cobb go with a soft ‘pop.’ He reoriented himself and settled with his back against Cobb’s chest. He was panting through his nose as he reached a hand behind him, grasping Cobb’s spit-slick cock awkwardly in his hand. It was difficult, but with a little maneuvering he managed to press himself back on it, inhaling sharply at the sound it made as the head of Cobb’s cock pushed past the tight ring of muscle and sank wetly inside him, Cobb’s hips flush against the backs of his thighs.
He pulled forward experimentally and groaned in frustration as Cobb slipped out. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his face as he fumbled, fingers slipping as he tried to put them back together. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally succeeded and moaned gratefully. He was more careful with the next movements of his hips, clenching his body and rocking gently to keep Cobb inside him. It was hard not to simply shove back, but Arthur didn’t want to hurt him. He pushed back a little harder and Cobb’s hips jerked forward. Arthur’s eyes snapped open as he paused, breath caught in his throat-but Cobb’s breathing was still slow and deep and he relaxed immediately. Breathing like that couldn’t be faked.
Arthur ground his hips back and was met again with a kind of passive reciprocation, Cobb’s hips rolling forward of their own accord in a rhythm that was too clumsy for him to be anything but asleep. After a while, they settled into an awkward, faltering rhythm that, for all its imperfection, felt nothing short of perfect, rough and hot and close. Being fucked made Arthur’s knees go weak and he groaned loudly despite the risk, knowing that even if Cobb didn’t wake he might never get another chance. The thought that Cobb might just as easily wake up without ever suspecting that he had spent half the night with his cock buried to the hilt in Arthur in what was undoubtedly the best fuck of his life made his cock throb with impossible arousal, excitement spiking in his blood like instant intoxication.
Breath ghosted hotly over the nape of his neck as he forced them together and apart. Only when he heard the familiar pattern of noise that told him Cobb was close did he wrap a hand around his cock, jerking his wrist roughly in time with his thrusts. He stuffed his free hand in his mouth and bit down hard to cover the sound as he panted, his hips rocking back and forth between his hand and Cobb’s cock as the tension built and built and built and finally shattered. Semen spilled over his hand and he sobbed around the flesh of his hand, tears trickling from the corners of his eyes with the force of keeping his orgasm contained.
His body continued to spasm and squeeze around Cobb for a few moments before Arthur felt him shudder and finish, semen trickling hot and dirty down his inner thighs as Cobb softened and slipped out of him, mumbling indistinctly in his sleep. He only rose when he was sure he had the strength to stand, his legs still shaky as he made his way to the sink, pausing to look over his shoulder at Cobb. His face was serene, his brow smooth and free of tension and Arthur let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.
Arthur wiped Cobb’s thighs and penis with a damp towel and tucked him back into his briefs, bending down to place one last kiss on the man’s sweat-damp forehead. His breathing was evening out again, his heart rate returning to sedentary levels. He had rolled onto his stomach, curling into the warm spot where Arthur had been lying. Arthur left him there and went to shower, washing all traces of Cobb from his skin. There was a smell of sex in the air and Arthur left the window open, trusting that it would be gone by morning.
The fire in his belly reduced to an ember, Arthur lay back on his cot, drifting easily into sleep.
He found himself being shaken awake by Cobb early the next morning, the man’s brow deeply furrowed above his intense, blue eyes.
“Cobb, what is it? Is something wrong?”
Cobb stared at him for a long, face unreadable. “I had a dream last night,” he said. “About you.”
Title: Asleep, While They Do Dream Things True
Word Count: 2,000
Pairing: Cobb/Arthur
Rating: a softer NC-17
Warnings: somnophilia-related non-con, really long sentences
Disclaimer: Arthur and Cobb are property of Christopher Nolan, and the title is 100% Shakespeare.
Author's Note: I'm rather amazed that I haven't seen any somnophilia in the fandom yet, so since I have A GIANT FRIGGING KINK for it, I decided to give into my sick, twisted fantasies and write some. ;)
“Do you mind if I take the bed tonight?”
“No. Go ahead-get some rest.”
Money was low and they were sharing a single again, cloistered in East Berlin with nothing but a need for work and a limited grasp of German between them. The room was muggy, oppressive, and Arthur cracked a window to let the air circulate as he sat with his legs crossed in a stiff, under-stuffed armchair adjacent to the bed, a rickety twin.
It was close to midnight. Cobb had been asleep for a little more than an hour. He had been pushing himself too hard, running too long on too little sleep, and Arthur knew he would be useless tomorrow without a decent rest. They were not strangers to sharing a bed, but it made Cobb too restless. Arthur would sleep fine on a cot, when he chose to sleep. At the moment, he had something more pressing on his mind.
Cobb moaned softly, his legs twisting in the thin sheets that clung to his body, dark in places with sweat. Arthur watched him in silence, studying the strong, smooth curve of his back, bare and drenched in moonlight. Muscles rippled across his broad shoulders and Arthur’s throat felt tight. He loosened his tie, laying it across the arm of the chair and rolling his shirtsleeves to his elbows, blood pounding at his temples.
The sleeping man stirred a little as Arthur sat on the edge of the bed, but he didn’t let it trouble him-Cobb was a deep sleeper. Arthur had never known him to wake in the middle of the night, not even for a glass of water. There was no movement behind his eyelids, but Arthur had watched him sleep enough times to know that he was well under. It was the lack of tension in his face that gave it away. His body jerked slightly and he moaned again, deep in his throat. A deep sleeper, but not a sound one.
Even without nightmares, he tossed and turned. Arthur didn’t know what happened when Cobb closed his eyes and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to. Either way, it wasn’t his concern.
Cobb’s spine tensed and relaxed beneath the flat of his palm in response to the stimulus. His skin felt clammy, feverish maybe, under the sheen of perspiration. Cobb was prone to night sweats, tremors, and Arthur bowed his head over the other man and kissed the nape of his neck, tasting sweat and skin. The hairs there, curling into wispy tendrils, tickled his cheek and he sighed against Cobb’s skin, fingers flexing hard on his bicep.
There was barely enough room for Arthur to lie down beside him, but Cobb was turning again. Arthur could feel the heat coming off him in waves, surprised by how much warmer he felt like this, despite knowing that average body temperature actually dropped a degree or two shortly before sleep.
Contact seemed to relax Cobb and he was more still now that Arthur was curled against his back, hand pausing on his chest to feel the man’s heart beat, slow and even like his breathing. Arthur felt the mild rise and fall of his chest and he closed his eyes, trying to mimic the sleeping man’s carefully measured breathing as his own quickened, shallow and harsh. Already the front of his slacks strained uncomfortably and he let himself press a little into Cobb’s back, the slow, hot grind making him shudder and groan softly.
There was something oddly thrilling about watching someone sleep, the silence that accompanied it, deep enough to hear the sleeper’s breathing like the low whisper of a flute; the subtle depression in body temperature and the torpor of their limbs, every movement pendulous and protracted.
Tonight Arthur was impatient, the ache too profound to take the time to remap territory he already knew so well. He slid a hand into Cobb’s briefs after only a few minutes, rubbing the man’s penis where it lay soft and indolent against his thigh. Sometimes he was hard even before Arthur reached for him, coaxed to arousal by the exploration of Arthur’s hands and mouth, but more often he had the satisfaction of feeling Cobb shudder to life in his hand as Arthur fondled him.
Arthur pressed insistently against Cobb, burying his face in the tender junction of his neck and shoulder, every brush of fabric sending sparks rocketing up his spine. Cobb’s breathing began to stutter ever so slightly, his sleeping rhythm punctuated with pants and grunts that made Arthur lightheaded as he thumbed the slit of Cobb’s cock, spreading the thin fluid around with the pad of his thumb.
By now he knew Cobb simply by the feel of him, the familiar coarse hair, untamed and musky, the incredible thickness of his shaft, and the moderate left-leaning arc of his penis when he was fully aroused. Arthur wondered what it would feel like inside him as they fucked, close and desperate, not for the first time. He was… what was that phrase Cobb was so fond of? Possessed, he thought; possessed by an idea. Tonight he would need more than some friction and a hand-job to satisfy the slow burn in his belly.
Arthur released him and carefully extracted himself from their embrace, licking the pad of his thumb even before he realized he had brought it to his lips. He stood there for a few moments, taking the time to work it out in his head and assure himself that Cobb was still asleep before stripping and neatly folding his clothes into a pile beside the bed.
He retrieved a small tube of lubricant from among his things and moved over to the sink, watching Cobb as he slicked his fingers. The man was sprawled out inelegantly, his chin resting on his forearm and Arthur bit back a soft cry as he worked two digits inside himself, sagging back against the sink, the ceramic edge sharp and cold against his back. It was a fight to keep his eyes open as he scissored his fingers, stretching himself, but he wanted to see Cobb.
“Dom… Dom,” he chanted the other man’s name under his breath, eyes fixed on Cobb’s sandy, mussed hair and stubbled jaw… the elegant curvature of his thighs. He only used the man’s given name in private moments like this where he couldn’t demur. Outside these walls, ‘Dom’ was reserved for Mal, but there was no harm in it here with Cobb asleep and Arthur pressed up against the hotel sink, trembling as he thrust his fingers rapidly in and out of his slick passage.
With a shaky exhalation of breath, Arthur withdrew his fingers and returned to the bed, gently stroking Cobb’s flanks before tugging his briefs down his thighs. He rubbed his calves together the way he did when a room was too warm and Arthur slid the window open a few more inches before settling himself beside Cobb, his face even with the man’s hips. Arthur took him in hand, sliding his mouth down around Cobb, who had softened in the interim. Arthur massaged the man’s hip as he sucked, his fingertips sinking into the soft, yielding flesh. Cobb stirred, his thighs parting slightly, and Arthur wedged a hand between them to feel the pounding of his femoral artery, Cobb’s pulse quickening as Arthur licked and sucked his way down his shaft, groaning low in his throat.
Arthur could tell he was close after only a couple of minutes and he reluctantly let Cobb go with a soft ‘pop.’ He reoriented himself and settled with his back against Cobb’s chest. He was panting through his nose as he reached a hand behind him, grasping Cobb’s spit-slick cock awkwardly in his hand. It was difficult, but with a little maneuvering he managed to press himself back on it, inhaling sharply at the sound it made as the head of Cobb’s cock pushed past the tight ring of muscle and sank wetly inside him, Cobb’s hips flush against the backs of his thighs.
He pulled forward experimentally and groaned in frustration as Cobb slipped out. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his face as he fumbled, fingers slipping as he tried to put them back together. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally succeeded and moaned gratefully. He was more careful with the next movements of his hips, clenching his body and rocking gently to keep Cobb inside him. It was hard not to simply shove back, but Arthur didn’t want to hurt him. He pushed back a little harder and Cobb’s hips jerked forward. Arthur’s eyes snapped open as he paused, breath caught in his throat-but Cobb’s breathing was still slow and deep and he relaxed immediately. Breathing like that couldn’t be faked.
Arthur ground his hips back and was met again with a kind of passive reciprocation, Cobb’s hips rolling forward of their own accord in a rhythm that was too clumsy for him to be anything but asleep. After a while, they settled into an awkward, faltering rhythm that, for all its imperfection, felt nothing short of perfect, rough and hot and close. Being fucked made Arthur’s knees go weak and he groaned loudly despite the risk, knowing that even if Cobb didn’t wake he might never get another chance. The thought that Cobb might just as easily wake up without ever suspecting that he had spent half the night with his cock buried to the hilt in Arthur in what was undoubtedly the best fuck of his life made his cock throb with impossible arousal, excitement spiking in his blood like instant intoxication.
Breath ghosted hotly over the nape of his neck as he forced them together and apart. Only when he heard the familiar pattern of noise that told him Cobb was close did he wrap a hand around his cock, jerking his wrist roughly in time with his thrusts. He stuffed his free hand in his mouth and bit down hard to cover the sound as he panted, his hips rocking back and forth between his hand and Cobb’s cock as the tension built and built and built and finally shattered. Semen spilled over his hand and he sobbed around the flesh of his hand, tears trickling from the corners of his eyes with the force of keeping his orgasm contained.
His body continued to spasm and squeeze around Cobb for a few moments before Arthur felt him shudder and finish, semen trickling hot and dirty down his inner thighs as Cobb softened and slipped out of him, mumbling indistinctly in his sleep. He only rose when he was sure he had the strength to stand, his legs still shaky as he made his way to the sink, pausing to look over his shoulder at Cobb. His face was serene, his brow smooth and free of tension and Arthur let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.
Arthur wiped Cobb’s thighs and penis with a damp towel and tucked him back into his briefs, bending down to place one last kiss on the man’s sweat-damp forehead. His breathing was evening out again, his heart rate returning to sedentary levels. He had rolled onto his stomach, curling into the warm spot where Arthur had been lying. Arthur left him there and went to shower, washing all traces of Cobb from his skin. There was a smell of sex in the air and Arthur left the window open, trusting that it would be gone by morning.
The fire in his belly reduced to an ember, Arthur lay back on his cot, drifting easily into sleep.
He found himself being shaken awake by Cobb early the next morning, the man’s brow deeply furrowed above his intense, blue eyes.
“Cobb, what is it? Is something wrong?”
Cobb stared at him for a long, face unreadable. “I had a dream last night,” he said. “About you.”